


there's a light on in chicago and i know i should be home

by punkpete



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hiatus fic, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Smut, References to Depression, Soul Punk Era, Swearing, a bit of kissing, its angsty, mentions of ashlee and bronx, of course, oh nostalgia i don't need you anymore, rated mature for that but also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpete/pseuds/punkpete
Summary: “Hello?” Patrick says, breathless and completely desperate sounding. Goddamnit. He was never good at hiding his feelings from Pete.“Hey there, Trick.” That’s Pete’s voice in his ear for the first time in months. It’s early, so his voice is a little gravelly and deeper than usual. It sends a thrill through Patrick, warmth pooling in his stomach. It almost makes him forget about the awful hangover he has yet to get rid of.“Why are you calling?” Patrick asks, genuinely curious. He realizes that after everything that went down before the hiatus should be making him furious now. But it was years ago. It seems less significant. He’s sure his anger will come back eventually, make itself known and tear him apart. But mostly he’s just sad. He misses Pete. He misses the way things used to be.Or the one where Patrick is drinking himself silly until Pete comes back to Chicago and gives him an offer he can't refuse.





	there's a light on in chicago and i know i should be home

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh hi. this is a birthday present for my lovely friend nina. u can find her on tumblr @sunflowerliam pls send her some love !! thanks for listening to my fob ramblings and editing my peterick WIPs lol. i hope you like this because i wrote it in like three hours but i really enjoyed it honestly :') 
> 
> as u can see i really love soul punk era/hiatus fics so i wrote another one. comments and kudos are always appreciated and u can find me on tumblr @gothicpete 
> 
> title is from chicago is so two years ago by fob of course

Patrick wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. His head is pounding, his mouth feels fuzzy and he’s covered in stale sweat and the smell of booze. He’s still in his suit from the night before, dark blue to bring out his eyes. He stares up at the unforgiving ceiling and groans, contemplating whether it’s worth it to get out of bed and answer the phone.

 

It’s blissfully silent for a moment, the call going to voicemail. Patrick thinks he might be able to go back to sleep, pulling the comforter up above his head. His phone rings again, and he finally registers whose ringtone that is. He jolts, fully awake now as he stumbles his way out of bed and gets his ankles tangled in the sheets.

 

Patrick nearly falls on his face with how fast he swipes his phone off the nightstand and hits the green accept button.

 

“Hello?” Patrick says, breathless and completely desperate sounding. Goddamnit. He was never good at hiding his feelings from Pete.

 

“Hey there, Trick.” That’s Pete’s voice in his ear for the first time in months. It’s early, so his voice is a little gravelly and deeper than usual. It sends a thrill through Patrick, warmth pooling in his stomach. It almost makes him forget about the awful hangover he has yet to get rid of.

 

“Why are you calling?” Patrick asks, genuinely curious. He realizes that after everything that went down before the hiatus should be making him furious now. But it was years ago. It seems less significant. He’s sure his anger will come back eventually, make itself known and tear him apart. But mostly he’s just sad. He misses Pete. He misses the way things used to be.

 

“It’s been awhile. We need to talk. I’m coming home.” Pete replies earnestly. His tone makes Patrick’s mouth quirk up with a hope he didn’t dare have for the past two years. It’s not an _I miss you_. But it’s heavily implied. More importantly, it’s a start.

 

“Home. You’re saying you want to come back to Chicago so we can talk?” Patrick plays dumb. He wants to be sure he’s understanding this right. He wants Pete to say it. He wants him to _mean_ it.

 

“Yes. I haven’t seen that angelic face of yours in ages. I’m about to get on a flight, but I’ll meet you at the cafe tomorrow, okay? Six o’clock.” Pete promises. Patrick nods vehemently, and then he remembers Pete can’t see him through the phone.  

 

“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll see you then.” Patrick confirms, running a hand through his matted hair.

 

“Great. Oh, and one more thing, Rickster?” Pete says, an odd note in his voice that Patrick can’t place but he detects as decidedly not good. “Take a shower. Have a cup of coffee, and a big, greasy breakfast. I’d like it if you showed up tomorrow not looking like the living dead.”

 

Patrick flounders, opening and closing his mouth. Before he can think of anything else to say, the line goes dead. That’s rich. Pete lecturing him on taking care of himself. Let alone looking like the living dead. Nevertheless, he stumbles his way into the kitchen and puts on a pot of coffee. He makes himself a big breakfast and then he takes a long, hot shower. He also has a couple of painkillers.

 

For the first time in forever, Patrick feels something burning bright in his chest. He has hope for the future. He gets to see Pete tomorrow. He doesn’t want to take another drink and drown in his own self pity. He wants to try to fix this thing between them, whatever it is. He wants to fix the band. That has to count for something.

 

+++

 

When Patrick walks into the old cafe, he’s flooded with nostalgia. It nearly knocks the wind out of him, remembering the album cover photoshoot for _Take This To Your Grave_. It seems like a lifetime ago. Somehow, it seems like it was just yesterday too. Then he sees Pete, sitting in a booth with his hands wrapped around his coffee cup for warmth and his hood up around his face. He looks exactly the same as always. Patrick feels out of place, so different from that kid he used to be.

 

He timidly makes his way up to Pete, his entire frame radiating apprehension and hesitation. He’s worried Pete is angry with him. That’s he going to yell. Usually it’s the other way around.

 

Patrick slides into the booth across from Pete, and sags in relief when Pete looks up at him and grins from ear to ear just like every other time he sees Patrick.

 

“Hi, Pattycakes. Want me to buy you something?” Pete asks, friendly and nonchalant like this conversation isn’t going to make or break them. Patrick doesn’t know how to tell Pete he’s on a diet. Besides that fact, he’s so nervous he doesn’t think he could keep any food down. He shakes his head, and then he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

 

“This isn’t really the best place to have this conversation, is it?” Patrick asks, looking around and making eye contact with a young, dark-haired waitress before quickly looking away.

 

“It’s fine,” Pete huffs, rolling his eyes good naturedly. “It’s dinner time on a Wednesday. This place is practically a ghost town.”

 

“Good point. Do you want to start, or should I?” Patrick inquires, scratching at the back of his neck nervously. He really hopes Pete wants to do most of the talking. Patrick can’t seem to figure out what to say. He feels like he’s walking on eggshells.

 

“I’ll start with the insignificant details. You know how I love those.” Pete smirks at him, eyes twinkling, and Patrick’s heart skips a beat. “I dig the hair. Never thought you’d bleach it. Love the suits, as well. Very classy.”

 

Patrick blushes, the tops of his cheekbones growing hot as he shakes his leg under the table.

 

“Thanks.” Patrick mumbles to the checkered table top. When Patrick looks up again, Pete is squinting at him like he’s scrutinizing him, looking at him intently. He seems to be studying Patrick, trying to figure out what else has changed since the last time they saw each other.

 

“Have you been eating enough?” Pete finally asks, lips pursed. Patrick doesn’t like this line of questioning, wants to shut it down as fast as possible. But he doesn’t want to lie.

 

“Not lately. I’m on a diet. I wanted to be healthier, you know.” Patrick shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It seems to be a point of contention for Pete, he can see the flames burning behind his eyes and threatening to engulf them both.

 

“No, I don’t think I do know. Maybe if you’re so concerned about your health you should stop drinking yourself to death.” Pete snaps, his shoulders hunched up near his ears and his hands clenched into fists. Patrick bites his lip hard, feels his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Pete doesn’t know the first fucking thing about Patrick’s life. Not anymore. And isn’t that just a twist of the knife buried in his broken heart.

 

He should’ve known that Pete has been talking to Joe and Andy. That they would tell Pete he’s been so depressed he can’t seem to do anything but go on benders. Touring for _Soul Punk_ has been long over now, but the parties didn’t seem to stop. He feels shame burning hot in his belly, ready to consume him whole. His anger finally seems to win out, overpowering him and making him lash out.

 

“Since when are you the poster child for self-care? Since when do you actually _care_ about what I do?” Patrick hisses, leaning forwards like getting in Pete’s face will somehow make the insults hit home harder. Pete flinches, taken aback by the statement. He looks a bit like a wounded animal. Then, he seems to steel himself, clenching his jaw.

 

“I never stopped caring, you fucking asshole. You’re the one who said you never wanted to speak to me again.” Pete shoves an accusing finger into his chest. Patrick grabs onto Pete’s wrist and twists as hard as he can. Pete hisses, pulling his hand back and cradling it against his chest.

 

“Stop being so overdramatic for one goddamn second. Things change. It wasn’t that serious.” Patrick sighs, deflating as the anger leaves him in waves.

 

“It was pretty fucking serious at the time, Patrick. I was about to be a father, I was getting married to Ashlee. I didn’t feel good enough to be in the band. I didn’t want to bring any of you down with me. But you just... _abandoned_ me.”

 

“I abandoned you?” Patrick shrieks. He can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. “What the fuck did you expect from me, Pete? I’m not your punching bag, or your therapist, and I never will be.” Patrick gesticulates wildly in an attempt to get his point across. Pete can be so fucking thick sometimes.

 

“I know that. God, I know that. But you were my best friend. You were supposed to support me.” Pete slams his forehead against the table a couple of times in frustration. Patrick really wants to slap him across the back of the head. It’s a near thing.

 

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Patrick growls. “You broke my heart. You slept with her behind my back. You acted like she didn’t mean anything to you. She got pregnant and you just decided to quit the band. You marry her and have a sudden epiphany that you love her. You thought having a kid would straighten you out, make you a _man_. But you’re exactly the same as before. Fucking clueless.”

 

By the time Patrick is done, his chest is heaving. He’s pretty sure he’s about a minute away from an asthma attack. Pete stares at him for a moment, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

 

“Patrick,” Pete starts, voice weak. “We weren’t together. She was a one night stand. Things didn’t go to plan. She got pregnant and I felt like I had to step up. I didn’t want to be a bad father. I had an obligation to uphold. I married her because I didn’t feel like I had any other choice. I was backed into a corner.” Pete sounds apologetic, full of despair and longing. Patrick doesn’t know what to do with this information.

 

“It doesn’t matter if we weren’t together. You knew how I felt about you. I was still your best friend. You owed me an explanation, at the very least.” Patrick groans, rubbing his temples. Pete slumps, resting his elbows on the table and shoving the hood off his head. His bangs hang in his eyes, falling over his brow in messy spikes he doesn’t bother to fix. Patrick itches to smooth it out, but he refrains.

 

“You’re right. You have no idea how fucking sorry I am. For putting you through all of this. I’m afraid that’s part of the deal. This is who I am. Take me or leave me.” Pete rests his chin in his hand and looks at Patrick ruefully.

 

“I know that. Despite every hell imaginable you’ve put me through, I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Patrick admits, stealing Pete’s coffee cup and taking a big gulp before sliding it back to him. It’s cold, goes down tasting bitter. Pete smiles, and it’s like the sun rising. Patrick has a gut feeling that they’re going to be okay. More than okay.

 

“Ditto. You’re a real dream boat, Stump.” Pete laughs, braying like a donkey and making Patrick smile back. Damn this charming motherfucker.

 

“So...where do we go from here?” Patrick wonders aloud. He’s afraid of the answer, but he knows that it can’t be anything bad. Not anymore. He just doesn’t want to get his hopes too high for something that may never happen.

 

“Well.” Pete is wearing his dangerous grin. “We get the band back together, obviously. We make some killer music. We follow each other across the world. Across the stage. And we don’t let anything get between us again.”

 

“I think you’re oversimplifying this a little.” Patrick huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and being his generally prissy self.

 

“I’m really not. I’m single, and I’m pretty sure you are too, Lunchbox. What have we got to lose?” Patrick wants to glare at him pointedly for that last part, but then he understands the rest of the sentence and freezes.

 

Patrick practically lunges across the table to lift Pete’s left hand up to his face and inspect his bare ring finger. How had he not noticed it before?

 

“Oh.” is all Patrick can manage for a couple of minutes.

 

“Earth to Patrick!” Pete shouts, probably not for the first time, and snaps his fingers in front of Patrick’s face.

 

“Sorry. I just never thought you’d actually divorce her. Holy fuck.” Patrick says, more to himself than to Pete. His heart starts racing so hard in his chest as if it’s trying to tattoo his ribcage. Pete Wentz wants to be with him. Chubby, awkward, mediocre Patrick. At least he’s pretty sure that’s what Pete is saying.

 

“It turns out she wasn’t in love with me either. It’s a shame for Bronx, but. If it doesn’t work, then it never will.” Pete shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t just flipped Patrick’s world upside down.

 

“What would you do if I said I didn’t want to be in the band anymore?” Patrick says quietly. He doesn’t mean it. It’s a hypothetical question. Just to see what Pete would do if that’s what Patrick really wanted.

 

“I’d support your decision. I’d go on tour with you. I’d follow you anywhere, you beautiful fucker.” Pete laughs, teeth gleaming as promises fall from his lips like nothing.

 

“I’m not sure how we ended up here. But I’m glad that we are. Let’s get the band back together.” Patrick blurts. He didn’t realize how bad he wanted this until he actually had a chance to take it.

 

“Really? Holy shit. You’re easy, P Steezy.” Pete’s face lights up with pure delight.

 

“Never call me that. And watch your mouth.” Patrick shoots back, but there’s no force behind it. He feels so happy he might as well have his head in the clouds right now.

 

Pete reaches across the table and grabs his hands, and Patrick inhales sharply at the contact. It feels a lot like someone just lit a match underneath his skin.

 

“Do you believe in the kind of love where nothing and no one can come between it?” Pete asks, deadly serious with the most sincere look on his face.

 

“I really want to.” Patrick answers honestly. He’s not sure if that exists. But if it does, he wants that.

 

“I do. And that’s what we have, Trick. This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing. It can be _ours_ , if you want it. Just tell me.” Patrick likes the sound of that.

 

“I want it. I want you. More than anything I’ve ever wanted before.” Patrick admits, breathless with the adrenaline running through him.

 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. But I won’t let anything or anyone get between us ever again. Not even myself.” Pete’s looking at him, starry-eyed and so beautiful in the place where all of this began. Patrick wants to believe him so badly.

 

“What if we fuck it up?” Patrick whispers, because if he says it any louder he’ll ruin the moment.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Pete shakes his head, squeezing Patrick’s hands tightly. “We’ve fucked it up before. We always fix it. We’re here right now, aren’t we?” Pete smiles at him, so hopeful it makes Patrick’s chest ache.

 

“Yes. Please. Take a chance on me.” Patrick begs, and then Pete’s getting up to round the table and shove himself into Patrick’s side of the booth until their sides are pressed together. Pete’s burning up, hot like a furnace as he grabs Patrick’s face gently between his hands and pulls him in for a heartstopping kind of kiss.

 

Patrick doesn’t even care who might be watching, cafe staff be damned. His toes are curling, Pete’s tongue exploring the roof of his mouth and his teeth digging into Patrick’s bottom lip. Patrick buries his hands in Pete’s hair and makes it even messier than before. Pete moans against him, and then he pulls back to bury his face in Patrick’s neck and nuzzle in close.

 

“Let’s go home, baby. I wanna show you how much I love you.” Pete says the words into his skin, and Patrick knows he can feel how hard his heart is beating. He seizes up at the words, feels his face flush and his ears get red. He really hopes this isn’t a dream. If it is, he never wants to wake up. Patrick pulls Pete out of the crook of his neck, tilts up his head with his fingers under his chin and gives him a shaky, reverent sort of smile.

 

“I love you too. I always have.” Patrick says, and then he places a smacking kiss on Pete’s mouth and urges him out of the booth. Pete intertwines their fingers together and walks Patrick all the way home. He takes off his clothes until he’s left in just his boxers, and then he slides into Patrick’s bed and grabs the notebook off the nightstand and a pen.

 

Patrick puts on his pajamas, a ratty old shirt with a hole on the shoulder and a pair of well worn _Star Wars_ pants. He watches, bemused, as Pete furiously scribbles across the paper with his tongue sticking out in concentration. He has to admit this isn’t what he was expecting when Pete said he wanted to spend the night.

 

Patrick climbs into bed under the covers beside him and rolls over until he can cuddle up into Pete’s side.

 

“What are you writing?” He can’t hold it in anymore, has to ask the question before he explodes from curiosity.

 

“Possible album titles. How does _Save Rock and Roll_ sound to you?” Pete asks, looking at him from under his fluttering eyelashes. Patrick can never say no to that.

 

“Sounds perfect. You feeling inspired?” Patrick raises an eyebrow at him, burrowing deeper into Pete’s warmth, right under his armpit.

 

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, all of a sudden I am. There’s this guy, with strawberry blond hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. He’s kinda short, but he’s got a voice like sex and he totally loves me. Maybe you’ve heard of him.” Pete gives him a shit-eating grin. Patrick groans, burying his face in Pete’s bicep and hiding his pink face from Pete’s tender gaze.

 

“You are the worst person in the world and I hate you.” Patrick suddenly feels incredibly sleepy and content.

 

“Now who’s being dramatic?” Pete snorts, setting the notebook on the nightstand again and throwing the pen God knows where. Patrick hits him over the head with the pillow. Pete tickles him in retaliation until he’s crying from laughing so hard.

 

“I surrender!” Patrick howls, trying to protect his stomach from Pete’s wandering hands.

 

“That’s what I thought.” Pete grins triumphantly, that familiar cockiness back in his whiskey eyes. Patrick can’t do anything except kiss him senseless to shut him up.

 

It’s the beginning of something new for both of them. So much has changed between them, but many things remain the same. If Patrick had known at sixteen that he’d be here right now, with Pete, he thinks he would’ve been a lot less grumpy and miserable.

 

But he thinks the heartache was all worth it in the end. Pete keeps his promises. Pete loves him.

 

Pete is this wonderful, hurricane of a man to be reckoned with. He’s larger than life itself, all consuming and full of darkness hidden below the surface. Patrick balances him out perfectly, burning brightly, semi-sweet and next to Pete’s heartbeat, right where he should be.

 

They’re gonna take over the fucking world together, over and over again.


End file.
